All I wanted was to ask Harry what I should do. He was my only confidant over the last year and I missed talking to him so much. I looked up Sheridan’s on my phone. On their website were photos of all the people at the top of the company. There at the very top was a photo of Harry. If I half closed my eyes it looked as though he was smiling at me, just as he did day after day when he’d see me at the door to his office.

“Ruby!” he’d say. “Come on in.”

He’d stop whatever he was doing and give me all of his attention. Just one look from him and I felt as though I was wrapped in a warm blanket. As though I was home. In Paris he’d told me he loved me. Adored me. He wanted to live with me, to be together forever. And the way he’d looked at me, I’d believed him.

I frowned. Had it just been a ploy to flatter me? Why would he need to do that?

“It’s so easy with you,” he said. I’d laughed and he quickly apologized. “That came out wrong, didn’t it? It’s just that I can be myself with you. I don’t have to think about things or feel as though you’re second-guessing me. I can relax. I haven’t been able to do that for a long time.”

I’d known exactly what he meant. There was a closeness between us by then that I’d never experienced before. There was a song I remembered from when I was young, and the lyrics were something like Everything’s better when you’re around. That’s exactly how I felt. It was as though the world had been sepia and it had suddenly burst into Technicolor and it was all because of him. And I trusted him, pure and simple. I’d known at the time that people would’ve said I was naive, given he was married and having an affair, but I felt as though I knew the real him. I’d truly believed him when he told me he loved me.

I was so angry then, and I picked up my phone, ready to let him have it. I guessed he’d be at work now and I took the risk that I could call him on his mobile. I hesitated, then withheld my number, before dialing his.

“Hello?” I said when the call went through.

“Hello?” It wasn’t Harry; it was a woman. “Who’s calling?”

Suddenly my mouth was dry. “Can I speak to Harry Sheridan, please?”

“Yes, of course.” She sounded pleasant. Happy. “Who’s calling?”